


Under The Shape Of Years

by cooliofoolios



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooliofoolios/pseuds/cooliofoolios
Summary: He thinks he could lean forward, just to see. That even though everything has been so off recently, that maybe this would make sense.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a little birthday surprise for fourfreedoms after the Winter Classic. Though it's kind of a timestamp for that game, it could also work as one for Friday's. 
> 
> Thanks to Frosting50 and fourfreedoms for all of the lovely feedback. And, again, to fourfreedoms for offering to edit her own present so I could post this thing. You're the best.

Patrick’s still pissed off, and so tired he thinks he could sleep for a week straight if he could just get his eyes to stay closed. Stupid fucking game. What a shit show. Patrick untucks his shirt and unbuttons it, slipping it off. He lays it over his suitcase and sits down at the edge of the bed to take off his shoes and pants. Listening to the low hum of the heat, Patrick closes his eyes and stays there for a few minutes, trying not to think of anything at all—just focusing on stretching out his fingers on the bedspread beside him, pushing his toes into the carpet, taking one deep breath in and slowly letting it out, again and again. When he feels like he can breathe easily, Patrick opens his eyes. 

He stands up in his undershirt and boxer briefs to go wash his face and brush his teeth and figures he’ll just call it a night. The vinyl floors of the bathroom are freezing cold through Patrick’s socks. Turning on the faucet he quickly runs through his routine. As he shuts off the tap, Patrick hears the faint beep of Jonny’s door and the clicks as it opens and shuts. 

And he should just get this over with. Figure out what bug crawled up Jonny’s ass and give him a piece of his mind. He’s sick of Jonny being hot and cold, of feeling like an idiot. Patrick starts to feel the irritation from earlier flood back. He puts his hands on either side of the sink, drawing in a long breath through his nose. 

And, fuck it. 

Patrick pushes out that breath and walks straight through the open connecting doors and up to Jonny, close to jabbing a finger in his chest. “What the fuck’s your problem, man? I was trying to talk to you downstairs.” 

Jonny glances at him and he looks—well, Patrick doesn’t know. Patrick hesitates for a second, and then Jonny seems to snap back to himself, whatever Patrick saw on Jonny’s face now gone and locked up. He bats Patrick’s hand away from him, saying, “Jeez, Kaner, calm down.” 

And, yeah, Patrick wants to kill him. 

“You basically told me to fuck off down there! We both had a bad game, it wasn’t just you,” Patrick says, moving as Jonny starts to walk past him and fully into the room. “And then you started talking with Hartzy and Vinnie like-” 

“Yeah, Kaner, I was there. I remember,” Jonny interrupts, rolling his eyes upward and loosening his tie. 

“Well then, what the fuck?” Patrick feels frustration clouding his eyes. 

Jonny ignores him and continues to move through his room, taking off his shoes, untucking his shirt. 

“Jonny,” Patrick says, his voice rising a little, trying to get Jonny to pay attention. God, Jonny drives him fucking nuts. 

“Listen, I don’t want to do this right now.” Jonny’s leaning over his bag, facing away from Patrick. “We should go to sleep,” he continues. 

And, seriously, fuck this. Patrick’s not unreasonable for wanting to talk. Jonny was the asshole earlier, not Patrick. He doesn’t get to just flip the script—it’s infuriating. Patrick walks over to where Jonny’s standing by his bed, hissing, “No, you listen. Why are you being such a dick?” No one seems to piss him off like Jonny, and Patrick hates how easily Jonny pushes his buttons.

Jonny stops what he’s doing and looks at Patrick. He doesn’t say anything. And Patrick doesn’t get this guy. He fists a hand in Jonny’s shirt, shaking him a little, “Help me figure it out. Because fuck if I know.” 

Jonny continues to stare at him, remaining silent, crossing his arms over his chest. Patrick doesn’t know what to do with this. He doesn’t know how to handle a Jonny that doesn’t yell back, or push, or do _something_. 

He grits his teeth, staring at his own feet, “It was embarrassing,” Patrick says, flushing. He feels so fucking stupid. But he pushes out, “Having you shut me down like that in front of everyone. You know I don’t care if you yell at me, but that was different. You know it was.”

Meeting Jonny’s eyes again, Patrick says, “You’re supposed to have my back,” and then, “You’re supposed to let me have yours.” 

Suddenly Patrick feels Jonny’s hand on his and realizes he’s still clutching at Jonny’s shirt. He quickly pulls his hand away and pushes them down to his sides. 

“I do,” Jonny says, his eyes suddenly focused, looking more like himself. “Kaner, c’mon. I do have your back. And I know you have mine.” Jonny reaches his hand out to touch Patrick’s shoulder. Softer Jonny says, “I really am sorry. I was a dick.”

“You’ve _been_ a dick,” Patrick says. 

“I know. You’re right. I don’t know. I don’t—” Jonny stops, rubbing a hand down his face, and he looks tired, too. As tired as Patrick feels. 

And then Jonny runs two warm hands from the balls of Patrick’s shoulders down to his hands, which Patrick realizes are in tight fists. Jonny turns both of Patrick’s hands over, palms facing upwards. He shifts slightly closer and strokes back up the underside of Patrick’s forearms to his elbows, and then back down again to cradle his hands. Patrick shudders, his fists loosening in Jonny’s grip, and he feels the tension in his body start to dissipate. 

“Hey,” Jonny says again, barely above a whisper, craning his head down a bit to make sure he has Patrick’s eyes. “It’s been a weird season so far,” Jonny says, clearing his throat, “for me. It’s just been hard to feel like myself all the time.” His eyes are impossibly dark. They’re standing close enough that Patrick can feel the heat of Jonny’s body. “And it’s easiest for me to take it out on you. To not feel like I have to explain myself.” 

“I can get that,” Patrick says. 

“I just. Nothing seems to stick.” Jonny closes his eyes and something like a grimace passes over his face. He keeps his eyes shut as he says, “What if I don’t get it back, you know? What—  
what if—”

“No.” Patrick says, and he turns his hands over in Jonny’s grip, his stomach swooping. This seems more dangerous than anything he’s ever done on the ice. He squeezes Jonny’s hands, feeling sure, maybe more sure of this than anything else. “Jonny, I know it. This isn’t it for you.” 

“I know you. _I know you_ ,” Patrick repeats. He leans in, closer still. “Jonny. Jon,” he says, low. Jonny opens his eyes, gazing back at Patrick. Patrick feels incredibly warm. He still doesn’t know how Jonny manages to rile him up so badly that he’s crazy with it, and then in no time at all makes him feel completely different. How he manages to get in his space so easily. He wonders if Jonny’s feeling warm too, if they need to turn the heat down in his room. 

Patrick takes a small step back, putting some space between them. He can’t really think like this. He rolls his shoulders back, clears his throat, getting back the line of conversation and says, “We’ve got a lot more work to do. And I’ve got a hell of a lot more grief to give you, so.” 

He reaches out back towards Jonny and pinches him in his side.

“Ow, you fucker.” Jonny swats Patrick’s hand away as Patrick grins, his chest feeling lighter. Jonny huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes. But, this time Patrick knows he’s amused rather than annoyed.

Jonny runs a hand over his head and the back of his neck. “But yeah, I don’t know. We’ll see,” he says, glancing back at Patrick. “Just need to keep at it, I guess. Control what I can. Stay positive, play my game.” 

“Welcome back, Captain,” Patrick says with a smirk.

“Alright, alright. Shut up.” Jonny pushes at Patrick’s face this time. “Get that out of here. This is why I don’t wanna talk to you. You’re insufferable.”

“Me? Yeah, right,” Patrick says, feeling more surefooted than he has in weeks with Jonny. “You know you need me around. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I wasn’t here to keep you humble.” And Patrick’s laughing a bit now, because that’s funny. 

“Oookay. Sure, bud,” Jonny says, but he’s laughing a little too.

He takes a step towards Patrick bringing them closer again. He grips Patrick’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and says, “Thanks, Kaner. I mean it.”

“Course,” Patrick says, and that warmth starts to creep back in, as Jonny runs his hand back down Patrick’s arm to encircle his wrist. 

He thinks about telling Jonny that shit hasn’t been that great for him either this season. That it’s better. He feels better everyday. But that some days he thinks he’s one second away from vibrating out of his skin, too. That some days he’s completely confident in himself, the team, his friends, his family, how people feel about him. And other days, he looks around and feels like everyone is just waiting for the other shoe to drop for him. That no matter what he does, or doesn’t do, he’s pushing against an invisible current he’s powerless to control. 

Jonny starts to move his right thumb in small circles over Patrick’s wrist. Patrick looks down at their joined hands, to show Jonny he’s acknowledging the touch. To let Jonny break the hold, if he wants. But Jonny doesn’t move. And Jonny’s probably looked at him a thousand different ways—so angry, he could wring Patrick’s neck, so damn happy, he could explode, and all of the quiet, unnotable times in-between. But, Patrick’s never seen this look. 

He thinks he could just lean forward, just to see. That even though everything has been so off recently, that maybe this would make sense. Jonny’s lips are smooth and warm as they meet Patrick’s. And he doesn’t really know, but it’s kind of funny that Jonny would meet him more than halfway for a kiss, when he’s been so stubborn about everything else. 

Jonny lets go of Patrick’s hands, cupping his neck as he deepens the kiss. For a moment Patrick doesn’t know what to do, arms still at his sides, tingling in all the places Jonny had touched him. Jonny’s hand moves, thumb sweeping over Patrick’s pulse point, and then moves along with him. He maps out Jonny’s lower back, tucking his hands underneath his undershirt and then dropping them down further to palm the swell of Jonny’s ass in his dress slacks. Jonny gently sucks on Patrick’s tongue as Patrick moves his hands up Jonny’s back to the base of his neck, just holding on. 

They stay like that, kissing in the middle of Jonny’s hotel room for several long moments, until Patrick starts to feel frantic with it. Every brush of Jonny’s body against his own sends Patrick’s heart tripping over itself. Each curl of Jonny’s tongue around Patrick’s is like a jolt right down to his cock. He wants to know if the rest of Jonny’s skin is just as soft as the bit he’s got his hands on. 

“Get these off,” Patrick says in between kisses as they shuffle over towards the bed and tumble onto it. He pushes at Jonny’s shirt, trying to maneuver it off as he’s lying underneath Patrick. “I feel dumb alone in my boxers.” 

Jonny pulls back, heated eyes drifting from Patrick’s eyes, down to his chest, and further still, then up to his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Jonny says, reaching out and rubbing a hand over Patrick’s hip to the small of his back, hitching Patrick closer and kissing him again. Patrick arches up, licking into Jonny’s mouth and then pulling back to lightly run his lips over the scar on Jonny’s upper lip. He spreads his hands over Jonny’s stomach, brushing over the firm planes of muscle. 

Patrick’s not sure he’s ever been this overwhelmed in his whole life. He can’t keep his hands still, clutching and grabbing any part of Jonny he can reach. He wants to see if Jonny’s shivering all over too, if—fuck. Patrick’s so fucking hard he aches with it. He can feel Jonny warm and heavy against him. Jonny has a firm grip on Patrick’s hips that he keeps tightening and loosening, like he can’t make up his mind either.

“C’mon, off,” Patrick says again, attempting to deal with Jonny’s buckle. After a failed attempt, Jonny chuckles and bats Patrick’s hands away. 

“Hold on, I got it,” Jonny says, breathless. Jonny shimmies out of his pants and underwear, kicking them to the floor. “These need to go, too,” Jonny says, pulling at Patrick’s boxer briefs and resting his fingertips underneath the band for a moment before dragging them down the rest of the way. 

Jonny’s body feels amazing against his, their cocks sliding against each other as Patrick wraps his legs up around Jonny’s hips, cradling him with his thighs as Jonny moves over him. Jonny pushes his hand down between them trying to wrap his fingers around the both of them for better friction, setting a tight and steady pace. Patrick brings his hands to Jonny’s ass, squeezing gently and then trailing his fingers up the cleft and down again. Jonny groans into Patrick’s mouth, and they’re so close when Patrick opens his eyes he can’t pick apart the details, it’s just a blur. 

Patrick thinks that the strangest thing isn’t that he’s naked in bed with Jonny, their dicks touching, but that this is the maybe the best Patrick’s ever felt. That after years of having regular sex, of having good sex, he’s never felt anything click into place like this. He feels out of his mind with it. Patrick turns his face into the pillow trying to get a minute, to regain some control. It’s just a lot, all of this at once. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer. I’m sorry, I—” Patrick stutters out. Jonny swears above him and Patrick looks up to see Jonny screwing his eyes shut tight, his grip on them faltering a bit. 

“Yeah,” Jonny says, his breaths coming faster. He leans down and rests his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck and whispers, “Me too, me too.”

Patrick’s senses are on overload. Jonny kisses up Patrick’s neck, to the curve of his jaw, muttering nonsensically in between. Then he pulls up, sitting back and looking down between them, as Jonny continues to jack him off. Patrick watches as Jonny’s hand strips up and down their cocks, biting at his lower lip. 

“Fuck. You’re so hot,” Jonny says, and he looks as wrecked as Patrick feels. He leans back down over Patrick, touching their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

And Patrick’s so close now, he’s squeezing his thighs around Jonny’s hips. “I want you to fuck me next time. Wanna ride you, feel you inside me. Need to get my mouth on you. All over you.” 

“God, yeah, Peeks,” Jonny says, and he’s shuddering, his hand moving faster and faster. 

“Want you to fill me up,” Patrick finishes, placing his hand over Jonny’s and moving along with him. 

Jonny swears again and opens his eyes, reaching out to grip Patrick’s free hand. “You gotta know how I—you gotta how much I’ve wanted this. All the things I want to do.” 

Patrick’s heart constricts in his chest, and with one last up and down of their hands he’s coming like a shot all over his stomach. Jonny grunts above him and follows a moment later, his come spilling over their hands. Jonny drops down, rolling onto his side next to Patrick, one leg flung low over his thighs, both of them breathing heavy. 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, as they both come down from their highs. Patrick listens to Jonny’s breaths even out, and tries to match his own to the steady pattern. He’s exhausted, from the game, from hooking up, and all of the emotions he’s been carrying around finally draining out of him. But, he feels good. He can’t believe how good this idiot has him feeling, actually. 

Jonny wipes at Patrick’s stomach and their hands with something. “Did you just wipe our come onto your bedspread? Jesus, Jonny,” Patrick says, laughing. 

Jonny doesn’t lift his head as he says, “Whatever. I didn’t want it to dry on you. You should thank me. We can just go crash in your bed, if you’re that grossed out by your own semen.” 

Patrick continues to laugh and gets his arm up around Jonny’s shoulder. “I’m just saying.” 

“Yeah, and you should be saying thank you,” Jonny says, lifting his head up and looking at Patrick, eyes soft and happy. And, yeah, they’re going to be just fine.

“Thank you, Jonny.” Patrick’s face hurts from how hard his smiling. 

“There we go,” Jonny jokes, and runs a hand over Patrick’s head, kissing him once, twice, three times. 

And it’s never been easier to take a deep breath in and let it out.


End file.
